The End Before the Beginning
by Feygan
Summary: Raccoon City's on lockdown, and two survivors are trapped within its borders. Tim Drake. Methos. DC-verse/Highlander/Resident Evil
1. ZeroZero

**...THE END BEFORE THE BEGINNING...**

**Possibilities** **for eternity**

when souls traverse **beyond the veils**

screaming in contemplation of **things to come**

denying the **silence** of the **grave**.

**Two individuals** walking side-by-side

but only seeing the path **before** them

imagining themselves **alone**

as they merge into the **solid** black of **nonexistence**.

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IN EXPLANATION: This is basically comprised of a joining of the Resident Evil/Resident Evil: Apocalypse movie-verses, the Highlander the Series universe, and whatever corner of the DC-verse I think Tim Drake should inhabit at any moment. Basically, Methos and Tim Drake live in Raccoon City and are trying to make it out alive, or at the very least with as many of their limbs still attached as possible.

Tim Drake was born and raised in Raccoon City. He has never been to Gotham, has never met and become obsessed with Robin and Batman, and was basically just a normal kid before all hell broke loose.

Methos left Seacouver and moved to Raccoon City where he created a new identity for himself as Peter Fields.

Now, in Resident Evil: Apocalypse events seemed to spiral rapidly out of control. One night and everything just totally went crazy. In The End Before the Beginning universe, things take a little more time. Instead of a single night, I give things about two weeks from ravening zombie hordes let loose on the city to the sunrise nuclear bombing of the city and everyone still in it.


	2. Possibilities

Title: Possibilities  
Author: Feygan  
Fandom: DC-verse/Resident Evil: Apocalypse  
Pairing: none  
Disclaimer: I do not own the DC-verse, or Resident Evil.  
Contact:  
LiveJournal: .com

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They were coming closer.

He had been running for what felt like hours with no escape in sight. No matter how far or fast he ran, they always showed up, more and more of them. The walking dead.

At first everyone had thought that people had just gone crazy. But when someone was shot point-blank in the chest, then got back up again... well it was obvious that there was something a little more serious going on. And he was young enough to be able to simplify things to a one word explanation: zombies.

Running down the street, he cursed when he found the way blocked by dozens of zombies. With no other choice, he took his life in his hands and ducked around a sharp corner only to find himself in a darkened alley with no pass through. The sight of the brick wall made his stomach want to drop below his knees.

Spinning around to try to make his way back out again, he moaned when he saw all the zombies coming in after him. There was no fire escape. There was only smooth brick walls surrounding him. He was going to die.

For a fleeting moment, he was tempted to just give up. To just stand there and let himself be killed. But it was only a moment, and he wasn't that kind of boy.

"All right, this isn't going to happen, not like this," he gritted out.

Looking around frantically, he spotted a steel pipe leaning against one wall. He grabbed it up, testing the weight.

After a few experimental swings of the five foot pipe, he was assured that it wasn't _too_ heavy, but that it had enough weight it could do some damage.

"This'll work," he said, spinning the pipe in his hands. He was suddenly glad that his cousin Raina had forced him to practice her baton spinning with her last summer. He had bitched and moaned at the time and had made her promise never to tell anyone about it, but now he was definitely thankful for the skill.

When one of the slow moving zombies finally shambled up close enough, he tightened his jaw and swung the makeshift staff. He "whuffed" a little at the almost unexpected impact, but there was something oddly right about it. He had never been much of a fighter, but he suddenly realized that he could be.

As the end of the pipe impacted just under the man's chin, there was a sharp "crack!" as the head snapped back and the zombie's neck was broken. The creature fell, and didn't get back up. It didn't even twitch.

Tim felt adrenaline surge through him, the flight instinct turning to fight. And it was good.

Facing down the rest of the zombies, he felt a feral grin stretching his lips. "Oh yeah, this _definitely_ works."

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=THE END=


	3. For Eternity

Title: For Eternity  
Author: Feygan  
Fandom: Highlander/Resident Evil  
Pairing: none  
Warning: ambiguous character death(?)  
Disclaimer: I do not own Highlander, or Resident Evil.  
Contact: .com  
LiveJournal: .com

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"Stupid scientists, always screwing around with things they can't control," he muttered, his arm aching from the swing-swing-swing of lopping off heads and his shoulder still stinging from the dog bite. That bastard had taken a big chunk of flesh and bone out of him and it was still healing, but at least he had used his last bullet to punch a hole through its skull into its brain. It wasn't getting back up again, and the vindictive glee of taking it out was still with him. He had never been much of a dog person, and now it looked as though he was never going to be one.

He'd been running for three days now, ducking and hiding when he could, fighting when he had no other choice. All he wanted was to get out of the city, but the blockade and armed guards allowed no escape. The only thing he could do was stay alive and hope that when the quarantine lifted he would be in one piece.

"A-arrrarrhahgah!"

Methos cursed under his breath, then forced himself to concentrate on the seemingly hundreds of shambling dead people heading toward him, their teeth gnashing hungrily. They didn't care that he was Immortal and that he wouldn't die unless they ripped his head off. All they knew was the need to feed, and he was walking meat for them to gnaw on.

He really didn't want to be torn to bits. It didn't seem like much fun.

"All right, you fuckers," he said, bringing his Ivanhoe to the ready position, waiting for the first to come in close enough. He knew that this was no time for anything fancy because even though he could be exhausted, they could not. Long after he collapsed, they would still keep coming.

Sweat and blood stained, hungry and thirsty and wanting nothing more than to lay down and sleep, he was determined to survive. Five thousand years of life was not going to be ended here on this dirty nighttime street with just the moon for a witness and no other Immortal to accept his Quickening. And if he _did_ die, he wasn't going to go down easy.

Reaching down deep into the depths of his psyche, he drew out the _Beast_ he had locked away thousands of years ago when he had given up his angry adolescence. Sudden fire burned in his eyes and his lips drew back from his teeth in a feral snarl.

Death waited as the circle of walking dead closed around him. A long forgotten bloodlust surged in his veins and the last shreds of his modern self fell away, leaving the predator exposed. He had been a psychopath and a berserker long before there were words to describe the things that he did. And now he was out to play.

"Come on then," he growled.

And they came, wave upon wave. And Death laughed at the freedom of it all.

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=THE END=


	4. Beyond the Veils

Title: Beyond the Veils

Author: Feygan

Fandom: Resident Evil/Highlander/DC-verse

Pairing:

Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil, Highlander, or the DC universe.

Contact:

LiveJournal: .com

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The world had become a dark place.

Zombies, licker monsters, and dead dogs hunted the streets, searching for living prey to feed their mindless hunger. And the humans? They were being picked off a group at a time until it had reached the point that Tim hadn't seen another living person in nearly two days.

He was tired and hungry and his muscles trembled uncontrollably with the strain of trying to keep him on his feet. All he wanted to do was collapse on the ground and just let everything be over, but some fiercely burning core wasn't going to let that happen. Not today and not ever.

He was huddling in the back room of an abandoned clothing store, his steel pipe at his side and the gun he'd found clutched in his exhausted fingers.

He wanted more than anything to be able to close his eyes and sleep, but his body refused to cooperate. Too much adrenaline and fear had left him trembly and awake, his mind unable to shut down for even a moment.

"'Cause the walking dead are going to eat me," he muttered, then laughed a little hysterically.

Tim knew that his entire family was dead, and probably everyone else in the city. He was alone, the last survivor.

He had always been a bit of a pragmatist, so he knew there was no way the government was going to risk a bunch of soldiers just to save one teenaged boy they didn't even know was still alive. He was going to die and there really wasn't anything he could do about.

Because even though he was so weary he could barely feel his fingers, the zombies were skulking around the city, an unstoppable, unresting tide of pure destruction. They liked to eat, but they didn't need to. And there weren't enough bullets in the entire city to take them all out.

He sighed heavily and rested his head against his arms, the butt of his gun pressing against his cheek, a cold comfort.

He needed to let go and sleep even if it was for just a few minutes, otherwise he was going to collapse when he really needed to move.

He sat there for he didn't know how long, his eyes finally going heavy and slipping shut.

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His mother was making pancakes, the smell making his mouth water. He was seated at the kitchen table, watching her bustle around. There was almost a sense of nostalgia about the scene, though he couldn't explain why. His mother had always been there for him, always would be there.

"Are you ready for today?" she asked, bring over a plate of pancakes. She set it down in front of him with a gentle thunk, her hand brushing against his arm.

"What do you mean?" he asked, reaching for the syrup. "What's happening today?"

"Why... today's the day YOU'RE GOING TO DIE!"

He jerked back as her right eye suddenly hung down by the optic nerve to bounce against her cheek. Her jaw was crooked and bloody, the teeth having bitten through the exposed flesh. There was a gaping red ruin where her breasts should be, the organs showing through her shattered ribcage.

His mouth opened in a scream, but no sound came out, just air sucking down into his lungs. His eyes were open so wide he could feel his eyeballs drying out and...

.

Tim woke with a jerk, his heart beating fast and hard.

"Ah fuck," he whispered, rubbing his face with his free hand. His other was clenched tight on his gun, the best kind of security blanket in this changed world.

He forced himself to his feet, ignoring the way his knees wanted to buckle. He needed to keep moving if he wanted to survive.

He moved to the door, pressing his ear against the wood. There was no sound outside, but that wasn't a guarantee that there weren't zombies on the other side.

He drew in a deep breath and slowly opened the door, his every sense on high alert.

Which is why, a minute later, he almost pissed himself when a recorded voice came across the city's loudspeakers. "This is Peter Fields. If there are any other survivors out there, please make your way to the Alco building. I will be waiting for you... This is Peter Fields. If there are any other survivors out there, please make your way to the Alco building. I will be waiting for you... This is Pet..."

Tim felt a smile shivering around the corners of his mouth. There was another survivor out there. He wasn't completely alone anymore.

Now he just had to find a way to get to the Alco building without becoming zombie food.

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=THE END=

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End file.
